


Shadows Rekindled

by lary



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Voldemort, Canonical Rape/Non-con, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle Attend Hogwarts Together, Harry Potter Modern AU, M/M, No Boy-Who-Lived (Harry Potter), Older Man/Younger Man, Politics, Rating May Change, Riddle family - Freeform, Sane Tom Riddle, Slow Burn, and will if we ever get that far but, because Merope Gaunt, not graphic and taken seriously, or at least simultaneously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:00:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26475325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lary/pseuds/lary
Summary: Whatever the century, a young Riddle in Hogwarts sends ripples across the land.
Relationships: Tom Riddle & Tom Riddle Sr., Tom Riddle | Voldemort/Severus Snape, Tom Riddle/Severus Snape
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Check tags for warnings - relevant for the first chapter!

“How's the queer literature module? Sy is trying to convince me that listening to the professor is better than sex.”

“Professor Leaghy has a good voice, true enough,” Hassan said with a laugh. He was leaning in closer as if to hear each other better, even though the overground was quiet enough there wasn't really a need. Tom wasn't sure what cologne he used but it made his mouth water. “Sy is more into fem presenting people, though, so I imagine it's even better for her. It's mad interesting though. You thinking of jumping ship?”

“Tempting,” Tom said, letting his eyes linger. The way Hassan bit his lip, he was getting the message loud and clear. “I really like the queer history one, though, and I'm hoping it'll give me ideas for dissertation. Mum is urging me towards a PhD but I don't know.”

“She's teaching at LSE, right? Is your dad a professor as well?”

“Stepdad, and don't we wish. No, he's trying to get the Lib Dems off the ground.”

“That's not too bad? I mean, it's not like he's a Tory.”

“Except we live in Islington.”

“Oh, right! Not going to be easy winning there. Corbyn's held that seat for ages, hasn't he?”

“Yeah and Islington's been steadily Labour since the thirties. Mum and I are not exactly holding our breath, but apparently hope springs eternal. Not that Erik really wants to be an MP himself, though he did run in the last elections.”

It was a bit chilly getting off the train, but Hassan wrapped an arm around his shoulders and Tom had no complaints.

“Your parent's aren't home tonight, right?” Hassan asked. “I'd have invited you back to mine, but my room is so small it barely fits one.”

“London rents, man. Why do you think I haven't gotten my own place? It's not like I love living with my folks, or getting from Islington down to New Cross every day.”

“Oh piss off, you've got like half an hour's commute.”

“Are you really going to complain?” Tom asked.

Hassan's dark eyes sparkled, and then Tom was being kissed breathless on the escalator. Their hands wandered a bit more than was appropriate for a public space, but the good thing about London was that nobody gave a shit. Once they'd gotten through the gates and spilled outside, Tom dropped his loose change for the homeless woman at the station entrance and pulled Hassan towards the pub.

“There's no football on tonight so I figured we could grab a quick drink and I'll text Erik to distract mum while I sneak you in.”

“Is it a problem..?” Hassan asked, but he followed Tom indoors readily enough.

“No, they're cool. It's just my mum married her first boyfriend having known him barely a year. They had me and got divorced just as quickly. I gather she and Erik were already an item before my dad had moved out but they were hiding the fact from everyone because she was his professor. He was a mature student but still an undergrad, she would've been sacked,” Tom explained. “Which is all to say that my mum doesn't know how to do casual and therefore treats any guy I bring home like they're my future husband.”

Hassan looked a bit horrified at that and tried to hide it badly. Tom laughed at him and then snogged him some more. Hassan looked satisfyingly flustered when an amused noise from the bartender made them pull apart. He handed over a twenty to the man before Tom could get his wallet out. “Can you grab us a table, babe? I've gotta take a leak.”

“Sure.”

Tom collected the drinks and headed towards the back of the pub where it looked like there were a couple of smaller tables still empty. He apologised absently when he bumped into somebody, wrinkling his nose a little at the smell as he realised it was the homeless woman from outside. He supposed it was nice she'd made enough to be able to grab a bite or a pint at the pub, but he'd be surprised if they didn't make her sit outside. He definitely didn't want to sit anywhere near her.

The woman shuffled off quickly though, and Tom sat down. He shot off the text and sipped his drink, checking his Facebook while waiting for Hassan to get back.

There was a restless feeling under his skin and he glanced around the pub, feeling suddenly confused. Waiting for-- He was waiting for Hassan? His mate from uni. Tom frowned at the message from Erik, wishing him good luck getting lucky. But why would Erik think – no, that was right, Tom had implied that. But he didn't want to take Hassan home. That made no sense, Hassan wasn't the person he was interested in. But who? With a sudden pang of alarm Tom looked around, scanning the crowd. There was somebody else he--

“Oh,” Tom said. He felt a little bit like his world had frozen. He was rising out of his seat. He knew he was staring, but he couldn't help himself. Was this what people meant about love at first sight? How could he have walked past this woman so many times? “I'm sorry, I didn't notice you there. My name is Tom. What's yours?”

“I'm Merope.” Her voice was quiet and shy, but she allowed him to clasp her hand into his. Tom felt breathless.

“That's a lovely name. It suits you. I'm sorry, I'm not usually this forward, but you must allow me to take you out to dinner. This isn't really a nice enough place for a girl like you.”

“I'd like that.”

Tom was about to look up restaurants, only to realise he'd left his phone on the table. He grabbed it quickly, his other hand still holding Merope's. He laughed lightly, feeling embarrassed. Would she think him silly?

“What kind of food do you like? There's Italian and Thai and sushi near here of course. There's even better places nearer to Angel station. But of course here we're closer to my place. Not that I wish to presume! It's just that you're so beautiful, I don't think I could bear to part for the night. Am I talking too much?”

“No,” his angel replied shyly. “I like hearing you speak.”

“Tom. What are you doing?”

“Oh, Hassan,” Tom said absently. “I'll see you around.”

“But... Wait, Tom, what--?”

He shook the annoying man off. “Really, mate, can't you see I'm with somebody?”

There was a stricken look on Hassan's face. Tom felt a brief pang of confused pity. But really, it wasn't as though he'd meant to give the other the wrong idea. He wasn't even sure how it had happened. Really, he couldn't imagine ever wanting to touch anybody's skin who wasn't the lovely woman in front of him. But-- hadn't he kissed Hassan before? What if Merope was upset?

But Merope reassured him, on the way to the restaurant, that she wasn't upset. Instead, she said she loved him! Tom had never felt such happiness. He really wasn't good enough for her, but if only she'd have him, he was never going to let her go.

She allowed him to take her home after and they cuddled and kissed and touched the whole night through. He felt terribly ashamed of not being able to claim her fully when she welcomed him on top of her, and he felt like his heart was breaking as he saw the disappointment on her face. But he touched her some more, and told her he loved her over and over again.

He asked her to stay when he left in the morning. He would've stayed in bed all day – his classes were clearly unimportant – but she'd finally opened up a little in the early hours of the morning, quiet and shy, and he knew what she dreamed of. So he visited the pharmacy and then when he returned home with the pills, his body was finally cooperative and he was able to make love to her. The happiness on Merope's face was so beautiful he felt like the luckiest man in the world.

They made love again later, although Tom was worried he might get her sick. She'd had to help him after a bout of nausea that had come out of nowhere. But she told him she'd be alright, and reassured him she still found him desirable, and he was able to please her once more. Afterwards his hands shook but she held them in hers, and she helped him to the kitchen and prepared him food and drink. And he ate with her and looked into her grey eyes and felt like he fell in love with her all over again.


	2. Chapter 2

“You heard the lady, put your phone away during the takeoff.”

Ian batted the hand away and continued reading the Guardian article. Irrespective of their political leanings, many people considered David Cameron an idiot, and yet the Brexit referendum he'd announced was due to be held in a couple of weeks. The news was largely focused on the campaign tactics of a few notable individuals and on speculating on the outcome of the vote. Same was true for recent dinner table conversation. Ian's family spent hours arguing amongst each other despite being essentially in agreement about remaining in the EU.

“Gran has hers out,” Ian said.

“Lucy! Stop being a bad influence on the boy.”

Ian had little interest in the vote itself. Leaving the EU seemed a short-sighted and impractical proposition, but either outcome could be manoeuvred around if need be.

“If you tattle on people when you go back to school in the fall, you'll soon have no friends,” gran said.

“Somehow I think I'll manage.”

“Of course you will,” grandad said. Ian saw gran roll her eyes affectionately, but kept his smirk to himself. Erik didn't always understand their sense of humour. Dad was the same way sometimes, even though he'd been raised by gran so you'd think he'd be fluent. Ian thought it was stupid, but gran said that niceness was a good quality in a person.

“I'm not worried.” Kids were easy to impress when he bothered. Mostly he didn't see the point, although it was likely good practice for later. Politicians at least needed to be charming to people around them.

But did the politicians themselves really hold the power or could he aim for a position behind the throne?

He fended off another attempt on his phone. “Grandpa! Stop it! My phone is on flight mode, it's fine. Ask the flight attendant if you don't believe me.”

Before he'd been given gran's university passwords and gained access to the near-limitless electronic resources an LSE professor could access at will, Ian had spent a lot of his time reading through the non-fiction in his grandparents' offices, mainly economics and politics with a side order of other social sciences. The fascinating thing in the Brexit debacle was that it lent support to his impression of the British prime minister's extensive influence. Internationally the US president had more power, but the differences in the political systems suggested the American national leader was highly constrained by the congress. In contrast, the House of Lords had a negligible influence on the UK parliament, which was effectively led by the prime minister alone.

“Oh, I believe you alright,” grandad said in that tone adults used when they thought you were adorable. Ian got that a lot, since apparently having the ability to form thoughts and arrange them into sentences was beyond most seven-year-olds. It was annoying, but it didn't really matter.

Besides, if adults thought him adorable... Well. Unlike gran, Ian still had his phone.

**

“Darling, aren't you even out of bed yet?”

“I'm not coming to the hospital.”

“Oh, and why is that?”

Ian gave his gran a cold look. She wasn't usually patronising and he didn't appreciate her tone. “You guys can go without me,” he said.

“You know Erik's mother is very unwell. It's the whole reason we flew to Sweden on such short notice.”

“Somehow I was able to deduce all that. Moreover, I've observed that sick people are gross.”

“Don't be rude, Ian.”

“Stop telling me what to do!”

“You're acting very immaturely.”

“Whatever.”

“That's it. We're leaving in ten minutes and you're coming along whether you're dressed or not.”

Gran slammed the door behind her, even though she always berated Ian if he dared. Ian burrowed deeper into the covers. They were all wrong, too, thinner than the ones he had at home. And they still smelled like cat even though he'd thrown the stupid animal out of the room and changed the sheets afterwards.

His phone was under his pillow for easy access, but he felt too shaky to read. Which was strange on its own. He didn't care about Erik's mother. Erik being sad was upsetting, and Ian could kind of understand it. He didn't know what the woman had been like, but of course Erik would be reminded of that person.

There was no point in visiting, though. Maybe if they'd come sooner, but whoever she'd been, she was nothing but a breathing corpse now. His grandparents could do whatever they wanted, but Ian had no desire to look at that shell of a person ever again.

There was a loud knocking on the door. “Ian! Are you ready?”

“Go away!”

Gran ignored him and came in. “Out of bed. Now.”

Ian sat up but made no move to reach for his clothes. “I don't want to go! How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“Irrelevant,” she said. “You're coming and that's final. She's dying, do you not understand that? It's what you do for family, you're there for them when they need you.”

“She's no family of mine! I'm not even related to Erik, let alone his mother whom I've never met before.”

“No family of yours, are they now? Not when it's inconvenient?” Gran threw Ian's clothes over to the bed. “What would you know about family if it wasn't for my husband? He's the one who insisted we take you in so you wouldn't end up with the drunks and crazies your mother came from.”

“She wasn't like that.”

“Oh? Knew her well, did you?”

“She couldn't be, not if she gave birth to me!”

“She was a deranged stalker and I'm glad she's dead. And if you feel too good for this family, then you may as well stay here."

**

He wasn't sure later how long passed since his grandparents left. He didn't agree with gran, but she'd been right about getting up and doing things. Not something Ian needed to be told, normally, and yet he was having trouble.

He pulled up dad on Skype and put in his headphones.

“Ian!” Dad picked up straight away. “I was just about to send you the article I read last night – it's an analysis of Pride. I know you liked the film less than I did, but you might enjoy reading about it more than you liked watching it.”

“You're probably right. It's just not my medium.”

“Except for Fight Club, which I still maintain you're much too young for.”

“If you wanted me to respect the parental controls, you might make them harder to bypass.”

“Oh, I've quite given up on that front. Hold on, I've got breakfast on. Do you mind if I cook while we talk? How's things?”

“Fine. The cat is harassing me. I think it knows how to open the door.”

“Aww, that's cute.”

“It smells.”

Dad laughed. “I suppose I should be grateful you won't be begging for any pets.”

“As if I'd beg.”

“My point exactly,” dad said. “How's Erik doing?”

Mortified, Ian felt his eyes burn. He bit his lip. He wasn't going to cry about this!

“Ian? Honey? Hold on.” There was some clanging in dad's end and then Ian could hear him move out of the kitchen and his face appeared on the screen. “Okay, no longer cooking. Will you turn on your video, too?”

“Give me a sec.”

Ian took off the headphones and pushed the duvet onto the floor. He left the phone on the bed, grabbing the t-shirt and jeans and striding to the bathroom. He scowled at the mirror and splashed water on his face before dressing. Dad would still be able to tell he'd been crying, but at least it wouldn't be immediately obvious he'd still been in bed nearing midday.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dad always asked that, mostly because they both knew what Ian's answer was bound to be.

“Not really,” he said. He knew though that dad had the patience to wait him out. “Gran said some things about my birthmother's family. I wanted to know if it's true that they're all alcoholics with mental health issues. Not that she used such politically correct terms, mind.”

Dad's lips pursed. “And what words did she use?”

“You answer me first.”

“It's not untrue,” dad said. “The problem I have with Merope's living relatives isn't that, though. If it was, I would've made more of an effort for you to get to know them. God knows I've wished you could have more family. But the few times we've made contact, they've been rude and aggressive. They didn't even care when Merope died.”

“Why would I need more family?” Ian asked. “Why can't I decide for myself who that is? Why should I suddenly care if some perfect strangers are dead? Or are about to be?”

“You don't have to. It's okay.”

“But gran said Erik is the only one of you who wanted me! So maybe she's right and his corpse of a mother is more my family than anybody I'm actually related to!”

“That's not true, never say that! I wanted you. You were my son from the moment I knew you existed, even before you were born.”

Ian couldn't help it, he was crying by now, his face hidden in his arms. Dad was quiet on the other end, but Ian knew he was there.

“Why didn't you ever talk to me about her?” he asked. “Do you think it was fun for me to have gran throw that in my face?”

“I'll be having words with her,” dad said.

“No!” Ian said. “Don't. She'll know I complained to you. She's already mad at me.”

“Darling, it's fine. She'll get over herself, but she needs to know she upset you. Adults don't always get that kind of thing, even when we try. She'll feel like crap about it, you'll see.”

“Yay.”

“Hey, just think of everything you'll be able to guilt out of her in the next few weeks. Anywhere you'd like to visit while in Gothenburg? Museums? University libraries?”

Ian rolled his eyes. “Like I couldn't get that whenever. Leave the mind games to me, you're bad at them.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So, will you tell me or not? Did half of my genes come from a deranged stalker? Gran's words, by the way.”

Dad sighed. “That's pretty mild for her. But she had no business dumping that on you. What Merope did to me has nothing to do with you, it's all on her.”

“Yeah, but what _did_ she do?”

“We're not exactly sure. There was no traces left that they could detect of any substance they knew how to test for.”

“Stop tiptoeing around it.”

“Drug rape. For nearly a year.”

“Oh.” Ian turned the screen away. Whatever his face was doing, he didn't want dad to see it.

“Ian?”

“Still here,” Ian said. “You must really hate her.”

“I spent a long time hating her. Still do, but I don't think about her a lot anymore. And I know she must have been completely delusional. She thought she was in love with me before we'd even spoken.”

“Why the hell would you defend her?”

“That's not what I'm trying to do, not at all. It doesn't excuse what she did, nothing does. I was in therapy for years afterwards, I'm not trying to downplay it. It just helps me to understand why it happened.”

“She died soon after I was born?”

“Apparently within the same day,” dad said. “She'd named you after me, so the social services knew who to contact straight away.”

“Right. I was just wondering if maybe you killed her?”

Dad gave a startled laugh. “Christ. No, I didn't kill her.”

“I wouldn't blame you.”

“That would be a sweet sentiment if it wasn't so disturbing. Maybe I should've been more diligent with those parental controls after all.”

That made Ian laugh. Afterwards he allowed dad to further lighten the mood. But once they'd hung up, Ian curled up in the corner of the bed, his thoughts dark.

His family returned from the hospital after a while, but Ian refused Erik's offer of company and gran's invitation to dinner. Dad must've talked to to them, since they left him in peace easily enough when he told them he wanted space to think.

A part of him was angry at gran, but he knew that to be misguided. What she'd said was only sense. If it was true about his other blood relatives, Ian was all the happier she wanted nothing to do with them. Ian would've wondered, too, taking a child from those kind of people into his home. No doubt it was a credit to her and dad and Erik that Ian was nothing like them.

What he was mad about was the way he'd been blindsided by the information, which could've been avoided if his family had bothered to tell him about Merope sooner. He didn't think even gran had deliberately held that for a future advantage – not least because their argument had hardly required such heavy ammunition.

Dad and Erik would probably point to Ian's age if asked for their reasoning. But really, his family should know that Ian preferred to be as well informed as possible. Then again, he should've made sure to find out. It wasn't as though he'd never noticed their omissions surrounding his birthmother. He'd even wondered about it when he'd realised his dad was gay, but he hadn't asked. He'd have to be more careful in the future.


	3. Chapter 3

Ministry of Magic

Minister of Magic Abraxas Malfoy

(Grand Ench., Chf. Warlock)

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

1st July 2019

Dear Mr. Riddle,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

As our records list your magical parent as deceased, you may expect a house call on the week starting 29th July from the Hogwarts-appointed and Ministry-approved liaison who will accompany you to Diagon Alley. Should you wish to contest the blood status on record, you may owl the Ministry's Department of Muggle Relations. A response should be expected to take anywhere between six to eight weeks, during which time we appreciate your patience and kindly request you refrain from further owl post.

The Hogwarts term begins on 2nd September 2019. Your liaison will contact the school on your behalf once your acceptance has been verified.

Yours sincerely,

Evander Rosier

Undersecretary of Muggle Relations, Ministry of Magic

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Ian would have thrown out the letter when it arrived but for two things. Firstly, for a phishing scam it was rather specific and required a rather counterproductive level of suspension of disbelief. Secondly, and as much as he hated it more importantly, he had that feeling. It wasn't anything he'd dared to put in words, the feeling he got sometimes of _importance_ of _meaning_ of being _different_. A feeling that came when he would see something or hear something or something would happen. He would _cause_ something to happen. With no rational explanation for any of it.

Grandad was the only one who knew, and only because he'd seen it with his own eyes before Ian had been old enough to understand that he was doing anything strange. Since then, they took the occasional walk together and Ian would try things, but they never talked about it.

In the end Ian showed him the letter and the resulting gaping made him feel a little bit better about feeling so unnerved.

Erik briskly got a hold of himself though and only said, “Probably nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Just in case, though, I'll ask Lucy and Tom to work from home that week. They can always take a long lunch if need be. No need to go into detail in case it comes to nothing.”

Ian wasn't usually fond of physical contact and his family knew it, but this time he accepted Erik's embrace gratefully. The whole thing was absurd, but it felt somehow a little bit hard to breathe.

Neither of them mentioned the letter again, but when Ian's desperate dive down the Internet rabbit hole finally got results three days later and he managed to pinpoint the location of Diagon Alley, they took the tube to Charing Cross station together. Ian had to grab Erik's sleeve to stop him from walking right past the Leaky Cauldron, unable to even see the pub before Ian pointed it out.

There had been no further instructions on how to the Alley from the pub, but the bartender was happy enough to let them through when Ian hinted at his Hogwarts acceptance.

“Don't imagine he's your liaison?” the man said. “Looks like a muggle to me. I won't say nothing, though, don't you worry. Don't agree with all this Ministry faff, myself. Nothing wrong with muggle-borns coming to down with their families. They should get to know the world you're going into, I always thought.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ian said as the brick wall dissolved under the tapping of – presumably – the man's wand.

“No worries, lad. You got your Hogwarts list? Just go straight ahead until you come to Gringott's, they'll exchange your pounds for our money and you'll be good to go.”

Stepping through threatened to take his breath away. There was magic everywhere – and yes, he knew it had to be magic now. Magic was real, Ian's very blood and bones sang with it, and everything he could see these people do he would learn to do as well. If it had been an elaborate hoax, he would've expected magic to look impressive and flashy. But while people were dressed differently than what he was used to, what they could be seen doing with magic were mostly everyday things like making their shopping float or their clothing look tidier and having a broom clean the outside of their store.

Bringing grandad had been a good choice. Ian wouldn't have wanted the commentary from his whole family, not while he was here for the first time and wanted to take in everything. Erik also took charge at the bank, which was ran by non-humans Ian would need to find out more about, and arranged for an account to be set up for Ian so that he'd have access to wizarding funds as needed.

“We must purchase Lucy some books on wizarding finances,” Erik said once they'd cleared the bank. “Those guys clearly aren't big on sharing, but there must be some resources. She'll be fascinated to find out about a whole new banking system and how it manages to function alongside ours.”

“Our first stop is that book shop we saw,” Ian agreed. “I'll want to read up on _everything_. I'll be up to my ears with it and with the September deadline I'm going to need the help. Gran can take on economics, you tackle the political system, and dad can look into history. You guys can do a summary and give me a three-day lecture series, I know that's what you've always dreamed of.”

Erik laughed, but once they got to the book store they parted ways. Ian had no need to worry about money. Normally he'd be expected to stick to an allowance but grandad was clearly treating these as extraordinary circumstances. Ian was fairly certain the amount of pounds he'd exchanged into galleons and deposited on Ian's Gringott's account was about a quarter of the total inheritance his grandparents were planning to eventually leave him. Ian thought grandad must have liquidated assets to have that kind of cash at hand, a realisation that left him feeling a little shaky.

There was of course no need to spend an inordinate amount on books, since most of what was on offer would no doubt be available at whatever library facilities Hogwarts had. Still, he wanted to use the two remaining months as well as he could to prepare for the school starting. His peers would have grown up in this culture and any ignorance Ian showed would leave him at a disadvantage.

He started with the store's section on Hogwarts, skimming through information for key facts. There was an extensive book about the history of the school itself, which he'd want to read through, and another dedicated on the Hogwarts library and its cataloguing system. The former would need checking against other sources, but the latter would help with that once he arrived.

In addition to the assigned textbooks, he picked up only a few extra books on each of his subjects, figuring he'd have time to learn more on them while actually at the school. The store had shelves for several fields of magic not taught in Hogwarts, but it many of them clearly utilised the base of knowledge gained through that study. Ian got a reference book targeted for Hogwarts students nearing the end of their education, which gave a brief overview of various fields of research and practice. It would enable further enquiries in his areas of interest.

He spent most of his time on skimming through books on wizarding culture, conventions, and society. He was glad he'd ended up doing a year of schooling in Sweden when Erik's mother's illness had taken longer than expected to finish her off and Erik had wanted to spend the time near her. The school had been an international one, and Ian figured the experience of managing social interaction with children from various unfamiliar backgrounds would be of some use now.

He already felt proprietary of magic, handicapped by only finding out about any of this now. He wanted to enter this culture that was _his_. But he did wish he didn't have to do it in a boarding school setting while surrounded by other children. It was bad enough going to a regular school, and he didn't have to live there.

After some agonising over an impending information overload, Ian was forced to acknowledge that there would be limits to how well he'd be able to prepare. There was no way he'd pass for a native, and the more books he looked through, the clearer it seemed that such nativity was a key issue. Although most of belonging was articulated though a rhetoric that was ostensibly about blood. Wizards seemed obsessed with blood, which was referred to in explicit and veiled terms depending on the context. One's blood was claimed to have everything to do with one's magical abilities, but the whole issue appeared highly politicised.

Ian would have to come to understand this contention, but delving into it would require highly critical approach and evaluation of sources. His initial overview was barely enough for a rudimentary understanding. However, he managed to narrow down a selection of books that would serve two separate goals: firstly, to understand how his peers and professors were likely to think for practical purposes and, secondly, to find out whether there was an evidence-based body of knowledge about hereditary elements to magical prowess and to familiarise himself with it.

With the relevant books chosen for purchase, he felt settled enough to go and find grandad. Ian joined him in the in the history section, although a quick perusal made it clear that this was used as an umbrella term under which a lot of books about economics fell. At least grandad was taking his responsibility of his part in Ian's school preparation seriously. He'd stacked so many books in his basked it had trouble floating and his face was buried in a thick tome whose title Ian could just about make out.

“Goblin revolutions throughout the Middle Ages? I thought you were going to give history to dad. And finances to gran. Either way, you shouldn't be reading that one.”

“No, don't take it away!”

“Sorry,” Ian said. “Oh, hold on, you're in luck! One of the authors teaches History of Economics as an elective at Hogwarts. I won't have it until third year, but if you let go of the pretty book and focus on the information I'm likely to need soon, meaning events that took place in the last century or so, I'll ask if you may owl him. Or I'll get you an autograph, whichever you want. Assuming he can give you one, what with being a ghost.”

“I bet you're trying to shock me, but I think I've reached my quota for the day. I'll definitely hold you to that.”

“In that case we'll need to go see if I can find an owl. I'll have access to the Hogwarts Owlery, but I won't want to rely on that, especially as it'll be of no use during the holidays.”

“What a lovely surprise for the rest of the family. Lucy will be thrilled.”

Ian laughed. “I think it might pale next to the whole magic thing. Speaking of which, I'll need to pick up a wand. Even if I won't be able to use it yet, I'm not waiting to get it with my liaison since it's not actually illegal for me to own one.”

“Alright. Well, we should visit the pet section before leaving here, as I can't say I've ever come across instructions for owl care.”

“Agreed.”


	4. Chapter 4

“--hair is rare, too. But besides this one, wandlore knows of no wand with a core of Thestral heartstring crafted in the last four centuries.”

Immediately when the wandmaker opened the box, the wand was calling out to him. He found himself stepping forwards and reaching for the pale wood.

As his fingers wrapped around the wand, there was a flash like a lightning strike. Ollivander and grandad were both covering their eyes, but the light wasn't blinding to him. Instead he was enveloped in it with a rush of power – his own magic surging and thrumming everywhere in his body, power he'd learned to chain up and hide even from himself, as welcome as a loaf of bread to a starving man.

There was no way he'd be able to give it up now, no way he'd be able to not do magic for nearly two months. How did people go to Hogwarts and then stop every time they came back home until they hit seventeen?

It took him a little while to really become aware of his surroundings again. Grandad was smiling softly with a proud expression, much like he did when acquaintances he disliked asked about Ian's grades. Ian didn't care for the way Ollivander was looking at him, rather like one might look at a zoo animal that one was fascinated with but which one suspected might try to claw one's face off at any moment. The wandmaker had been distantly polite while they'd tried out the first few wands with little effect, but his gaze had sharpened when a wand with a unicorn hair core had caused such violent aversion that Ian had thought he might be ill. The next wands they'd tried had clearly been closer, but touching them hadn't felt _right_. Ollivander had been more intrigued with each failure, clearly informative to a professional wandmaker in a way they weren't to anybody else.

“Spruce, eleven inches, unyielding. How curious...” Ollivander said now. Ian tilted his head in question, and he went on, “Your wand was the last one my second cousin Galatrix Avery ever made. The core was gifted by the same Thestral whose hair was the core of her own wand, and since she finished it she won't touch any wand not her own. And I do mean gifted in a literal sense. The only known wand core equally rare is unicorn heartstring, since killing a unicorn is widely regarded as one of the most heinous acts a wizard can commit. In contrast, the rarity of Thestral heartstring is a practical question to do with the impossibility of killing a Thestral. Wizards attempting it have been known to be driven mad by paradox, for a Thestral can foresee their own death.”

Ian stared at the wandmaker, his fingers tightening on the wood. He shook off grandad's hand as it came to rest on his shoulder. “You mean to say the Thestral whose heartstring forms the core of my wand chose to die for it?”

“Death will come for all of us. Whether the creature knew her time had come or chose death for a greater purpose, there is no telling. What is clear is that the wand has chosen you,” Ollivander said. “Did you know, Mr. Riddle, that Thestrals are invisible to any wizard unless they've seen death and made their peace with it?”

Peace, such an absurd description. Feeling suddenly a bit like his voice was coming from underwater, Ian said, “It's time we left. How much for the wand?”

Their exit was abrupt, but Ian stopped in his tracks as soon as they stepped out. He needed supplies, but he wasn't going to re-enter the shop. Later he would, but not now.

“Are you alright, darling?” grandad asked. “Come, sit down for a bit. We'll get ice cream.”

Ian let himself be prodded to the cafe across the street. He sat down obligingly with a cup of tea and some ice cream, some of which he eventually managed to consume.

After grandad had been sufficiently reassured of his well-being, Ian asked him to return to Ollivander's for wand sheaths. He didn't mind about the cost – no doubt they'd last him for years, as long as they were good quality. The need was urgent, though. He was still holding his wand and honestly didn't want to let go of it. But that was hardly practical, nor was it feasible once they left the magical area.

It took half an hour for grandad to return. The shop hadn't carried any sheaths of the exact nature Ian had specified, but custom made sheaths were a common request. Ollivander had crafted several to Ian's specifications. A standard belt sheath was included free of charge, but the rest were easily attached nearly anywhere on the body. They had a regular dragonhide outside but the underside was a loosely knit mesh that allowed the full length of the wood to come to contact with skin.

Ian strapped one to his forearm and when he slid his wand in, a profound sense of security settled on his shoulders, the wand pulsing in tandem with his magic.

“Okay, that's enough,” Ian told Erik, letting his exhaustion show. “Thank you for coming with me. I'm ready to go home now.”


End file.
